


The Hunger Games: A Political RPF

by CrubioIsLoveCrubioIsLife (orphan_account)



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-21 19:45:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7401322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/CrubioIsLoveCrubioIsLife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Each year, Panem hosts it's annual Hunger Games. From each district, two tributes are chosen to fight to their death against the tributes from the remaining districts until one person remains. The normally uneasy Marco Rubio takes his little brother's place when he is called as one of the tributes. (Eventual Crubio)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

 

The sun blinded Marco Rubio as he slowly opened his eyes. The sixteen-year-old leaned over and quickly closed the blinds of the window across from his bed. Marco grudgingly rolled off his bed and slipped on his smooth leather cowboy boots, which made him stand an inch taller. His shoes were made into a running joke around the district, people making fun of the height boost he needed. Marco didn’t care too much; he had learned to laugh at himself. Marco nearly jumped up in surprise when he saw his younger brother, Mario, stand at the edge of his bed. He sighed as he wondered what his brother wanted from him now.

“...Mom said we’re running low on food.”

Marco rubbed his eyes, trying to get the last bit of drowsiness out of him. His brother was right; there was hardly any sight of food in the house. Marco immediately dug into his pockets; he frowned as he couldn’t find any money in them. He slid out of bed and onto his knees, grabbing his satchel from underneath. No sign of anything useful there either.

“Do you have any spare coins?” Marco asked. He looked at Mario’s blank face, hoping to god he would say yes. He didn’t feel like going out to hunt today. Marco was not very good with a gun and he assumed his best friend, Mitt Romney, wasn’t going to be there to help him today.

Mario shook his head, his innocent hazel eyes locked with Marco’s.

Marco let out an exasperated groan; he couldn’t believe this, especially at a time when they needed money the most, “Did you really use that last bit I gave to you?”

“They...they stole it from me,” Mario whimpered, his head low.

“Who?”

“T-the other kids.”

Marco almost resisted the urge to get angry and lecture his brother; the younger boy would frequently get bullied by the other kids in the district as he was smaller and weaker.

“You can’t let them keep teasing you; someday you’ll have to stand up to them yourself when I’m not here.”

Sometimes his older brother was like the father he never got to know, as their father died working in the minefields years before Mario could have a clear recollection of him. In the small shack they lived in, it was just the two brothers and their mom.  He had a small family, but he didn’t mind. His mom and brother had a strong presence in his life; it was characteristic of his Cuban family. They lived on whatever they could afford each day, which was barely anything. If they had nothing useful to trade in, they would use the last bit of their money before their mother would try to provide them with whatever her patients gave her in exchange for healing them, which rarely happened. This was a normal occurrence for all of the people who resided in the poverty-stricken district 12.

“Where will you go? Nobody really leaves this district unless-.”

“Today…” Marco interrupted. Ever since he was 12, he dreaded this day every single year, “Today is the reaping. I’m just trying to tell you this, just in case they end up calling me.”

Mario’s eyes widened; he feverently shook his head. He hated when Marco was like this. His older brother became so pessimistic at the worst of times.

“How do you know that? There’s a lot of us here...they haven’t called on you in the past four years. They won’t do it this year.”

“You don’t know for sure-”

“Someone’s at the door!” Mario exclaimed, interrupting Marco. Marco sighed, watching his 12 year old brother run to the other room.

Marco heard a quick knocking sound come from the front door. He wondered how his brother was holding up so well, especially since this was his first year he could be called during the reaping. Maybe it was better to be optimistic, although that was impossible for the naturally nervous Marco.

When he opened the front door, he was taken aback when he saw Mitt.

“You look shocked,” Mitt lifted one of his eyebrows, noticing Marco’s surprised expression, “What? You weren’t expecting me?”

“Uhh...no?” Marco anxiously replied, “I thought you were supposed to work now.”

“There’s no work today for me because of the Reaping, remember? I figured we could have fun before awaiting the grim announcements and hanging dread." Mitt joked, elbowing Marco. The thought of it turned Marco into an anxious mess.

"Don’t even _joke_ like that," Marco frowned, not finding it funny at all, however he wanted to strike out on the opportunity to score a meal when he and his family lacked the money and supplies they needed. He was not _using_ Mitt but he couldn't deny that the other boy arrived at the perfect time despite the abruptness of his visit. Although his mother had explicitly stated that she didn’t want him to go outside today except for emergency purposes, he knew hunting with Mitt would help calm his nerves.

Marco scrambled to his room to grab his gun and satchel. He then grabbed a small pin off his dresser that he always wore on his jacket. The pin was of an elephant, in front of a small cross. The design was completed in a dusty silver color that popped nicely against his dark-colored clothes. He barely remembered how he got his hands on it. All he knew was that he found it back when he first played in the forest.

Marco quickly sprinted back to Mitt and together they left to go to the forest that was technically off-limits. But ever since Mitt’s father found a hole in the fence, their families always relied on the forest for resources.

Mitt swiftly ducked under the gap, while Marco had to crawl through. They carefully walked through the forest, the autumn leaves crunching under each step. Finally, Mitt pulled out his gun and took the first shot at a small bird. He attempted to shoot at it several more times as it quickly flew in circles above them.

“Darn it,” Mitt muttered under his breath as his bullet missed the fowl.

“Wait I might be able to get it,” Marco called out, trying to aim his gun at the bird. Marco pulled the trigger, but instead hit the branch off of a tree. Mitt looked disappointingly at Marco as the branch crashed down, scaring away all the birds nearby.

“This is why I keep telling you I suck at this.”

“Why don’t you try shooting bigger targets like…,” Mitt looked around until he spotted the perfect target. “...like that deer?”

Marco hesitated at first, because he knew that the deer would run off if he failed his first shot. And Marco knew that he was not as experienced as Mitt.

“I guess I can try,” he answered, walking over to where Mitt was standing. He then recreated Mitt’s stance by crouching down a little, with his gun positioned straight in front of him. Marco had a stiff posture, but Mitt figured he would correct Marco on that later.

“Now make sure to aim as precisely as you can,” Mitt whispered. Marco squinted and tried his best to aim at the deer. He slowly brought his finger over the trigger.

Mitt peered over Marco’s shoulder, making sure that he was on the right track.

“Ok… now shoot!”

Marco swiftly pulled the trigger, slightly wincing as the bullet flew through the air and went through the deer. He didn’t enjoy watching animals die, but he knew that he had to shoot them if he wanted his family to survive.

Mitt ran over to the deer and gave Marco a thumbs up. Marco simply grinned. He couldn’t believe it; he actually managed to shoot the deer with one try. Marco joined Mitt and together they picked up the deer, Marco slightly struggling with the heavy weighted animal.

After Mitt finally shot some birds, with Marco sitting back and watching, he walked over towards Marco and sat next to the younger male.

“I hate seeing you like this, Marco,” Mitt noted Marco’s solemn expression.

"What?” He raised his eyebrows, “I’m not exactly excited for what’s happening today.”

“Me neither.” Mitt said.

“You’re much better at hiding it than me,” Marco said, a smile creeping up on his features.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Mitt teased, “We’ll ride it out. Tomorrow will be another regular day. What are the odds of them calling one of us over thousands of other people?”

Marco nodded even though he didn’t like Mitt’s particular answer. It was silent between the two until Marco spoke up.

“What if we ran away? Took our families with us?” Marco suddenly asked, but then shook his head, “...no, that’s dumb. They’ll easily catch us and kill us if we do that. ...Or what if everyone just stopped watching the games?”

“That’s wishful thinking but they won’t.” Mitt replied.

“How do you know for sure?” Marco asked, looking up at Mitt, “If nobody watched it, they wouldn’t have a game which means nobody would have to be recruited during reaping day.”

“That’s not going to happen. People all around Panem are too invested to stop watching.”

Marco sighed.

They decided to call it a day and head back to their homes. All of a sudden, Marco remembered that he needed to buy more bullets for his gun. The problem was that he didn’t have a single coin on him.

Marco hated asking people outside of his family for money, but did so anyways, “Hey, Mitt, do you have a few copper coins I can borrow? I need to buy more ammo. I promise I’ll pay you back.”

“Fine, just this once,” Mitt replied, reaching into his pocket to give Marco the copper coins, “You know where the store is, right?”

Marco nodded.

Marco tried picking up the deer, but he struggled to even lift it off from the ground. Mitt instead took the animal carcass and effortlessly slung it over his shoulder. Marco then picked up the many birds Mitt managed to shoot down.

The two left forest area, unbeknownst to a gunshot that echoed a mile away.

 


	2. Chapter 2

One bird after another dropped to the ground each time a loud gunshot echoed throughout the forest. A hand cocked back the forend of a long gun before pressing the trigger, letting a bullet escape the weapon.

The male holding the gun frowned as he narrowly missed a crow that flew yards away from him. He, Ted Cruz, was quite skilled at shooting for someone at the ripe age of 17. Gun shooting was one of the few activities he would do to pass the day as there was nothing else to do in the dreary district 12 to pass the time aside from his job. He decided he would stop for the day as his shoulder was starting to hurt.

Ted strapped his gun to his chest and picked up his kill for the day before heading back to town for work. Although today was the day of the reaping, Ted’s father didn’t want him to take the day off to mentally prepare. Like his father, he put his work ethic above anything.

Nearly half an hour passed and he arrived to work, a small and modest gun store owned by his Cuban family. His father stood behind the counter, lifelessly flipping through an owner’s manual that Ted knew he had reread many times. It was one of the only books they owned.

 _"Ted!”_ his father greeted him, straightening up, “¿Oye,trabajas para mi, por favor? Yo necesito arreglar algunas cosas en el cuarto detras* _*.”_

Ted nodded agreeably, taking his father’s place behind the counter. He sighed, looking down at the shoes he had once dubbed his “argument boots”. They were a bit scuffed, dirty from the hunt and coal-streaked from everyday life in District 12. He’d always tried to keep them in good condition, but they were a few years old and somewhat small. He would ask for new ones, but he knew his family couldn’t afford it. The rest of his clothing was old too- a yellow flannel button down that had belonged to his father and badly needed patching and a pair of jeans that were stiff from washing in hard well-water. In some of the richer districts, he would likely have been regarded as poorly dressed, but for 12 he was considered well-off.

The door swung open, pulling Ted out of his internal monologue. A young man stood there. He looked maybe 15 or 16, with lightly tanned skin and deep brown hair. He was about Ted’s height, maybe an inch or two taller, and wore similar boots, although his were in worse condition. He looked a bit uncomfortable, and Ted wasn’t sure why.

“Ah, hello. Is there anything I can help you with?” Ted said from behind the counter. The boy nervously walked up to Ted, preparing himself to ask a question.

“Do you sell gun ammo?” he asked shyly, while placing his weapon on the counter for Ted to inspect. Instead, Ted peered into the boy’s warm hazel eyes. They looked oddly familiar to him. Not to mention the male had a familiar innocence to him that was all too unforgettable; he vaguely recalled an event from his childhood.

_Two very young boys were running around inside, yelling and laughing as one was chasing the other. They circled around a few adults, their parents. Their conversation was cut short when the younger boy bumped into his mother._

" _If you guys want to play, then go outside! What happens if you end up breaking something?” One of the adults said._

_“Be sure not to go too far. We want you back in the house by the evening.” the younger boy’s mother said._

_With that said, the two agreed to go outside. They continued to run after each other. They were both very invested in their game of tag, not realizing they were headed towards the forest._

_The older boy stopped, causing the younger one to bump straight into him._

_“Do you think we should go back?”_

_The younger one paused, then shook his head, “No! Let’s explore around; our parents never let us go here.”_

_When the older one was about to object, the younger one urged him not to. Instead, they headed further into the thick layer of forest. The younger boy stopped for a moment, seeing a shiny object on the group; he crouched on his knees and picked it up. After rubbing the dirt off, he closely glanced at the object. It had to be one of the strangest things he’d ever seen; it was a cross-shaped shirt pin with a carved out elephant embedded onto it. The younger boy thought it looked interesting so he stuffed it into his pocket before standing back up._

_The older boy had an apprehensive expression while the younger one ran ahead of him, glancing at the sight in awe. However, he didn’t panic until he lost sight of his younger friend._

_He suddenly heard a scream._

_“Help! Help me!”_

_He immediately ran towards the source of the noise. His heart nearly lurched out of his chest as he saw his friend face forward on the ground, his foot trapped in a crevice between two trees. Ahead of them they could see a rabid wolf charging towards them at full speed._

_“I-I can’t get out!” The younger male cried, trying to pull his foot out of the crevice._

_“Grab onto my hands!” The older boy shouted, he quickly took hold of the younger boy’s hands into his own, trying his hardest to pull him out. His younger friend didn’t budge. He looked back and could see the wolf coming closer and closer by the second. The younger boy started sobbing, tears gathering in his eyes and streaming down his cheeks._

_The older boy saw the wolf gather all of its strength and leap towards them. Instinct kicked in and he immediately wrapped his arms around his younger friend to protect him. The older boy yelled in pain when he felt teeth sink into his shoulder._

_“Ted!” The younger boy cried._

Ted quickly snapped out of his daydream and examined the gun. He was almost embarrassed for spacing out so easily in front of his costumer. 

“Oh, that’s a M14. You’ll need these,” Ted said. He looked under the counter for the appropriate ammo before pulling out a small box. Ted watched as the young man searched through his satchel and pulled out three coins. He carefully placed them on the counter, waiting for Ted to take them.

“I’ll need one more coin from you,” Ted told the boy, finishing off the sentence with an uneasy smile. It was his signature emotion, however it made many people feel uncomfortable. No one had the gall to tell him that to his face.

“I only have three,” he said, deliberately avoiding eye contact. The familiar male ducked his head and began to put his coins back in his satchel.

“I suppose this time I can let you purchase it with that amount,” Ted blurted out before the boy could walk away from the counter. There was something about that young man that made Ted believe that this was okay to do. It was almost as if he made Ted feel sorry for him.

The young man took his coins back out and slowly placed them on the counter. Ted handed the small box to the younger male. There was an extended period of eye contact between the two until the younger male broke it off, flustered by the intensity of it all.

“Thank you.” The younger man said before leaving. Ted watched his every move until he left the front door.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> **“Hey, can you work for me please? I need to organize some stuff in the back room.”


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 

When Marco reached his room, he placed the small box of bullets he bought under his bed. He was dreading this day more and more as each minute passed. Any minute and the entirety of district 12 was to be called to the Town Square for the reaping. He could feel sweat gather on his forehead as he paced around his room. He sat back on his bed, trying his best to calm down. He absently clutched onto his cross shaped pin.

Rubio slightly flinched when he saw his mom come into the room. She was followed by his little brother.  

“Where were you?” His mother asked; she was visibly concerned, a streak of anger in her voice, “No debes ir afuera en un tiempo como este!**”

“...lo siento**,” Marco replied, his voice uneasy, “Queria tomar un poco de aire fresco**.”

Rubio’s mother sighed when she saw Mario’s worried expression. She knew he didn’t want them to fight, not at this moment.

“You have to take Mario with you.”

Marco looked at his mom and nodded, “I will.”

His mother crouched down eye level to Mario, clutching his small shoulders, “Marco has done this four times. No tienes que preocuparse de nada**.”

Marco bit his lip. He didn’t know what to say about that; he, his brother, and just about everyone had a lot to worry about. Trying to coddle his young brother wouldn’t help.

Marco absently grabbed onto his younger brother’s hand as the crowds around him were becoming saturated with more townspeople. He looked downwards, his boots trudging on the graveled ground below. All he could hear were the dull, monotonous sounds of people’s footsteps as they walked closer to the town hall. All around them were tall, intimidating guards with blank, yet stony expressions. Mario brought himself closer to Marco, his calm expression changing into an anxious one.

Mario’s breathing immediately became rapid, his brown eyes wide open. He immediately stopped.

“Whats wr-”

Marco stopped mid-sentence when he saw the crowds of people form several lines behind a long table. In front of each line, a person held what looked to be like a needle. One of them instructed the person in front of the line to hold their finger out before they pricked them with the needle.

“I-I can’t.” Mario shook his head, his voice shaky.

“They’re only going to take a little bit of blood. It won’t hurt that much, I promise.” Marco replied, trying his best to calm down his frantic brother.

Ahead of them they could hear the monotonous voices of the people behind the desk.

“Next.”

“Next...go ahead.” “Next.”

When they reached the front of one of the lines, Mario hesitantly extended his arm out for his finger to be pricked. The person behind the desk quickly unraveled his index finger from his clenched hand and pricked it with an electronic needle device. Mario winced. They stamped his bleeding index finger on a paper and scanned the bloodprint. Marco was right, it didn’t hurt nearly as much as he thought it would.

“Next.”

Marco watched his brother leave the line to wait for him before he extended his own arm. After his turn was over, he walked over to where his brother was waiting. They walked past the tables to gather at the large crowd before the stage.

The crowd had a certain gloominess draped over them today. Mothers trying to keep all their fatherless children together while walking through the bustling crowd. Little children running past the groups of adults while wearing tattered hand-me-downs from their siblings. A young couple clutching together while wondering where their next meal will come from. All these people would rather be anywhere but here, anywhere where they do not have to anticipate the worst thing that could happen: getting their child’s name picked.

Marco caught Mitt staring back at him from the other side of the crowd.

“You OK?” Mitt mouthed at him.

Marco nodded, before looking back at the stage. He was too nervous to focus on multiple things at once. He just wanted this day to end.

Everyone’s attention turned to the stage, when they saw a flamboyantly dressed woman walk up to the stage. On her shirt, she had a platinum pin, the name Sarah Palin, engraved onto it. Behind her thin rimmed glasses, her face was caked in pounds of makeup and she had an otherworldly sense of fashion. However, it was the large, saccharine grin on her face that caught Marco’s attention the most.

“Welcome! Welcome! Welcome! Good afternoon, district 12! Happy hunger Games!” Palin exclaimed, “Before we call out our tributes, we have a very, very special video to show you!”   

In front of Palin, a large projector was set up and behind her there was a white drape-like screen. The white screen suddenly turned dark, signifying the beginning of the video. Marco eyes were glued onto the video; he was familiar with what it had to show as he had seen the particular clip several times. To him, it was simply propaganda for the Games. Within the screen, there was a dreary backdrop of human remains. It quickly transitioned to a scene of soldiers, hundreds of them, walking in an organized fashion, their hands tightly clasped onto their assault weapons.

_“War.Terrible war. This was the uprising against the country that fed them. Protected them.”_

Marco could hear the narration behind the video. Scenes of people fighting and devastating fires erupting around a city appeared. Ordinary families were running away as they saw guards chasing suspects to control the chaos.

_“…Then came the peace. Hard fought. Solely won. The people. Rose up from the ashes and a new era was born. It was taught that freedom has a cost. And that traitors were defeated…We would never know this treason again. And so, it was decreed, that each year, the various districts of Panem would offer up in tribute...two young citizens…To fight to the death. And it peg you to honor courage and sacrifice. The lone victor who bathes in riches...will serve as our reminder of our generosity…and our forgiveness. This is how we remember our past. This is how we safe guard our future.”_

The video slowly faded until the screen turned white.

“...absolutely beautiful,” Sarah quietly said to herself, pretending to wipe a tear from her cheek, “Now the time has come to select two courageous tributes from our lovely district 12.”

Two guards stepped up on the stage, holding a large box of papers from each end. Each strip of paper had a name written onto it. They placed it in front of Sarah. Sarah crouched down, wiggled her hands, before reaching into the box to pull out a strip of paper.

She glanced at the apprehensive faces of the large audience behind her as she uncurled the strip of paper. Marco could feel his heartbeat rise as each second passed; he clutched harder onto his brother’s hand.

“Mario Rubio.”

Marco froze. He looked down at his brother who was just as petrified, his mouth slightly open, his eyes wide and unmoving. Mario looked up at Marco; aching to hear something come out of his older brother’s mouth. However, Marco was silent. Each year, Marco would mentally prepare himself, his brother, or friends to be called, but he actually didn’t expect it to happen.

“Come on up, Mario. Don’t be shy!”

Mario trembled as he took a footstep forward. He turned back to look at Marco once more, only to see his older brother remain speechless. The crowd was completely silent except for Mario’s slow and hesitant steps. Marco’s breath shook as he watched his young brother walk closer and closer to the stage. His breathing escalated and his heart rate soared; he was able to hear the loud and rapid beats. Marco had to do something; he couldn’t just stand there and feel helpless.

His little brother was about to be put in a game where he would have to fight for his life. Knowing Mario, he wouldn’t last a minute.

Marco felt himself take wide steps towards his brother. The crowds around him stared, interested in what he was about to do. Before he could get any closer, two guards blocked Marco’s path and restrained him.

“Mario!” Marco shouted, trying his best to free himself from the tight hold the guards held him in.

His brother stopped in his tracks.

“I volunteer!” Rubio exclaimed, freeing himself from the guards, “I volunteer as tribute!”

Mario’s hazel eyes grew wide. Marco immediately ran over to him.

“Y-you have to get out of here.”

“No!” Mario objected, shaking his head, “I…I can’t leave you here!”

“Go find Mom.” Marco urged, he saw Mitt come towards them, “You have to take him to my mom.”

Mitt nodded his head, unable to form a sentence. He grabbed onto Mario’s hand and took him away from the crowds.

“Marco please don’t!” Mario cried, before he was out of his sight.

All Marco could do was whisper that he was sorry.

“...Well. That was unexpected.” Palin said from the stage, she brought her microphone closer, “Here in district 12, we have our very first volunteer. Come on up.”

Marco slowly walked towards the stage, the crowds clearing an area for his path. Everything to him seemed like a blur, he was only focused on one thing, and that thing was to get on that stage without passing out. Marco went up the steps, Sarah reaching out a hand to help the shaken teen up.

“What’s your name?” Sarah asked, extending the microphone towards Rubio.

“M-Marco Rubio.” He said in a timid voice. The edges of Marco’s forehead were shiny, his nervousness very evident.

“And I bet that was your younger brother you volunteered for?” Palin continued, “Wasn’t it?”

Marco hesitated, looking among the audience before him. 

"...Yes." 

“Let’s have a hand for District 12’s first volunteer in history, Marco Rubio!”

Instead of clapping, the crowd ahead of them extended their arms, their three mid-fingers sticking out in a salute.

“Now for our second tribute...” Palin continued, digging in the box of papers to pull out a name slip. She uncurled it as she did before.

Marco tried his best to calm himself down; he scanned the audience to see who it would be that Sarah would call.

“...Ted Cruz!”

Marco frowned. He saw a familiar face emerge from the crowd, walking towards the stage. It was the same person who worked at the gun store. He could feel Ted’s chocolate brown eyes bore into his hazel ones.

Unlike him, Ted had a calmer stride, he didn’t looked as petrified or nervous. When he reached the stage, Palin motioned him to stand next to Marco. Rubio stole a glance at Ted before looking downwards.

“Ah, yes. Our tributes from district 12.” Palin said, a large grin escaping her features, “Go on, you two. Shake hands.”

Ted initiated, holding out his hand. Marco looked at him, studying his features. To him, the older male had a memorable face. He had prominent brown eyes which were sloped downwards. From there he had a long and angular nose; the edges of his lips were slightly curved downwards as well. He had visible cheekbones and a strong jaw. Marco’s boyish features stood out more as they stood alongside each other. Ted had an intimidating aura; that probably explained why the younger male was so nervous around him. Marco slowly brought his arm out, shaking Ted’s hand back with a firm grip. His eyes suddenly widened.

_“Help! Help me!”_

_“I can’t get out!”_

_A six year old Marco could feel an older boy wrap his arms around him. The older boy yelled in pain, a wolf’s teeth pressed onto his shoulder. The older boy was trying to save his life._

Marco immediately flinched, pulling his hand out of the handshake. He was unsettled by that sudden thought, having no idea what that was about.

“Happy Hunger Games!” Palin concluded, “...and may the odds be ever in your favor.”

Marco was escorted into the Justice building where he would say a final goodbye to his family. He saw his little brother and mom sitting in a table, a lull to their expressions. When his brother saw sight of him, he immediately got up from his seat and ran towards Marco.

“Marco! Why did you do that? Why…” Mario trailed off, burying his head against Marco and wailing.

Marco ruffled the child’s hair, his smile tinged with melancholy. “I had to, kiddo. But don’t worry, okay? We’ll…” It was his sentence’s turn to trail off into oblivion now; he’d meant, of course, to assure Mario that they would see each other again, but this could well be a lie.

However, his brother had not picked up on this. Mario raised his head to look at his older brother, his face blotchy and tear-stained.

“Marco? Win for me, okay?”

“Of course I will.” Marco choked, offering what was he knew was likely false assurance.

“Of course I will.”

Marco looked back down at his brother; Mario’s head was sunken down, his shoulders slouched. He looked like as if he were about to burst into tears again.

“Listen to me.” Marco began, placing his hands on either side of his brothers’ narrow shoulders, “Whatever you do; don’t let the other kids push you around. Promise that you’ll be strong while I’m gone; promise me.”

Mario nodded, trying his best to resist from crying again. He looked at his mom, who was walking towards them. Marco glanced at her as she reached to straighten the elephant-and-cross pin on his shirt. She immediately embraced her son into a tight hug. Marco was taken aback for a few seconds, but he returned it.

“...If...if I don’t make it, ” Marco quietly said, making sure Mario wouldn’t hear, “Please be there for Mario.”

“Me quedare a su lado**.” His mother replied, in mid embrace, rubbing her son’s back. They broke off their long hug.

The doors suddenly burst open and a guard came in, a gun strapped to his back. The three immediately stared at the guard, fear struck onto their faces.

“Time is up.” The guard said, motioning for Mario and his mother to leave. Mario gave Marco one more hug before they were escorted out.  His gaze was locked onto the door as he made mental notes of his possible final goodbye to his family.  

A little after a minute, Marco saw Mitt storm inside the room.

“I can’t believe you did that!” The older male exclaimed.

“...I couldn’t let my brother go,” Marco said, letting his guard down. Mitt could feel Marco’s voice break, but he ignored that. He didn’t want to push into Marco’s emotions; there was probably a million thoughts going through his best friend’s mind.

“I’m okay, just a little overwhelmed.” Mitt didn’t believe that one bit.

“You know a little bit about guns; show them how good you can be,” Mitt changed the subject, “All they want is a show; you have to give them one.”

“I’m not any good at guns though.” Marco shook his head, “T-this isn’t as simple as hunting either. There’s 24 people; each of us hellbent on killing each other. I’m sure they’re much more experienced than I am.”

“...only one of us is going to come out, Mitt.”

“And it’s going to be you, once they give you adequate training.” Mitt reassured.

“Come on, let’s go! It’s time!” The same guard peered into the room.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” Marco nodded in response.

“Please take care of Mario!” He said, watching the guards push Mitt towards the door.

Marco could feel his hands shake as he sat down in one of the seats. He hoped his goodbyes, or possibly final ones, would be enough for his family and best friend.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> **You shouldn’t be going outside at a time like this!
> 
> **I’m sorry. 
> 
> **I wanted to get some fresh air.
> 
> **You don’t have to worry about anything.
> 
> **I will stay by his side.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 

Ted was escorted to District 12’s train station which was just a few blocks away from the justice building. Several guards walked in front and at the back of him as they led him to the destination. The 17 year old was silent the entire time, unable to focus on his thoughts. On the outside, Cruz appeared collected and calm but his emotions felt like a scrambled mess. Having minutes to say goodbye to his father and mother added to that. He looked ahead of him when he heard the jarring sound of a train horn.

He turned to the left and saw a train quickly bypass him before it slowly came to a stop. It was the only one among the empty train station. Ted noticed Marco standing alongside Palin and several other guards. Marco acknowledged his presence and gave him a short glance before the guards motioned the two to get inside the train.

Once they had gotten inside and the train began to take off to the next destination, the Capital, Ted and Marco were escorted to the dining car of the train. Marco sat next to the window, looking outside at the scene ahead of him while Ted sat across a round table situated several feet away from Marco. Beside him was a table assorted with drinks and servers preparing dinner. It was awkwardly silent. Ted could see Marco fidgeting with a cross shaped pin that was secured onto his coat. Every few seconds or so, Marco would remove the pin and place it back onto his article of clothing. Ted was annoyed by the nervous tic that Marco had going on as it was very distracting, but he tried his best to pay no heed to it. He instead focused on Palin who sat across from him.

“Honestly, I think all of this is a wonderful, wonderful event that anyone in district 12 would love to experience,” Palin said, as she pushed back her glasses.

Ted frowned; he looked at Palin as if she had gone crazy, which wasn’t too far off her normal demeanor anyway.

When the brunette saw his unamused expression, she burst into laughter. She loved playing this particular joke on the tributes she received every year, “What I meant that was this is a luxurious experience. You get to have personal chefs and servers cater to your every whim...I don’t even want to mention what you’ll get to do and see at the Capital. It’s a great time, although it lasts for a little while! Enjoy it while you can.”

Ted remained silent, his expression never changing.

“Alrighty then, I’m going to find Jeb,” Palin said, standing up from the table; she looked at the two, “You’re familiar with Jeb Bush, right? Have you met him?”

Silence.

“You know, Ted; he’s our mentor. He won one of the previous Games, so he did witness things once. He can help you guys.”

When she had no response from Ted, she heavily sighed. Her patience was running thin.

“Look! I know you don’t want to talk at this moment, but I’m just trying to lighten up the mood!” Palin exclaimed, catching Marco’s attention, “...I don’t think there’s anything wrong with getting a little help. You’ll need it.”

All Ted wanted was for Palin to leave him alone. He didn’t really feel like striking up a conversation with anybody at this moment. Although it was hard to tell, he was still in shock from what happened. He was still in shock from the fact that he could have several weeks left of his life. The last thing he needed was somebody forcing him to express dishonest excitement.

When Ted heard the sound of the bus door creak open, he turned around, his attention now on an unfamiliar face. He was a tall, lanky man in his middle ages. His appearance wasn’t well put together. His shirt was messily tucked into his pants and the glasses he wore looked bent out of shape.  His tall figure which was supposed to make him somewhat intimidating didn’t help take away from the passive air he had.

“...Could you keep it down?” The man said, sleepiness harboring his voice. His voice matched the passive impression he gave.

“Ah; looks like I didn’t have to wake you up after all, Jeb,” Palin said. She sat back down in her seat.

 _This was supposed to be our mentor?_ That was the thought that echoed through Ted’s head over again. He didn’t look like somebody who had won the Hunger Games. From the corner of Ted’s sight, he could see Marco stare at Jeb as well. He was clearly waiting for Jeb to say something as he was their mentor. Instead, Jeb plopped down on the nearest couch and grabbed the closest drink on the table next to him.

That was when Ted stood up and walked towards Jeb.

“So when do you start?” Ted asked, trying to initiate something, seeing as Jeb didn’t feel like doing so.

“...Start what?” Jeb said, grabbing a bowl of what looked to be like chips.

“Mentoring us,” Ted tried his hardest to resist rolling his eyes. It was unlike him, but he was losing his patience and he could feel himself getting moody.

“Can I finish eating? Please? I’m so hungry.”

Ted crossed his arms. To him, it didn’t seem like Jeb cared and it was really getting on his nerves. He thought that Jeb was secretly getting a kick out of his anger for some twisted reason.

“You know, I’m not in the mood for this,” Ted began, his frustration clearly showing, “You’re our mentor, you’re supposed to-”

“Yeah, but I’m hungry,” Jeb interrupted, “I’ve been sleeping all day and I feel like my stomach is going to cave in on me any second, so I’m not in the mood for this either. For you to be bothering me!”

That was when Ted left the room after giving Jeb a menacing glare. Marco simply watched in awe, completely clueless as what to do.

Ted walked into what looked to be like a bedroom of some sorts. It was located within one of the train cars. He looked at the features of the room, impressed by the upkeep of it. The entire room was colored red, from the walls to the carpet and even the bed. He grabbed a remote-like contraption, closely examining it. He pressed the ‘on’ button, located at the end of the remote.

He raised his eyebrows when a translucent, 3D screen appeared in front of him. On the screen, a video was clearly playing with the sound audible. It was nothing like Ted had seen before.  His curiosity got the better of him; he slowly extended his finger towards the screen, his hand going right through it.

Perplexed, Ted sat on top of the bed, his attention focused on the TV.

On the screen Ted could see two men, two of them holding microphones. They both sat behind a desk in what looked to be like a news broadcasting station.

“...Here we have two 16 year olds,” One of the men said; he had hair as white as snow. Behind him, a backdrop of two teenagers in what looked to be like a field overshadowed by rubble appeared. The two had weapons in hand as they stood in defensive stances. Their faces were pressed into cold, hard glares as they callously stared each other down. Ted knew exactly what those two were about to do.

“I remember this year,” The other man replied, his eyes on the backdrop, “It was one of my favorites, actually. The arena we used was quite sufficient for the nature of the games. The use of the ruin city made it very exciting.”

Ted furrowed his brows when one of the 16 year old tributes left their defensive stance. They immediately drew their axe back, giving the other tribute no time to react. In under a second, a pool of blood appeared on the grassy ground. The impaled tribute fell to his knees before falling face forward onto the ground. The other tribute pulled out the axe from his fallen competitor, raising the weapon high above him. A mixture of relief and pride was clear in his expression.

“...This is the moment you never forget,” The white haired man said, “...this is the moment when a tribute becomes a victor-”

Ted suddenly turned off the TV when he heard the noise of a fallen object. He turned to the back of him, disturbed by the sudden appearance of Marco. In front of him a series of poles had fallen. The younger male was crouched down, attempting to pick up the poles that had accidentally tipped over.

“S-sorry,” Marco mumbled, but in an audible voice, “...I didn’t see you here.”

When he saw that Marco was struggling with the poles, he walked over to help him set them back. Ted looked at him, the younger male was clearly embarrassed from ungracefully stumbling into the room. When Marco was about to switch his footing and leave the room, Ted spoke up.

“How are you holding up?”

Marco stopped, clearly surprised the older male was talking to him.

“I’m actually really thirsty right now,” Marco couldn’t believe what came out of his mouth. He didn’t expect to come off as that open, especially since this was their first conversation since being chosen as tributes. He replayed that sentence again in his head, hoping he didn’t sound stupid.

Ted couldn’t help, but to let out a small smile. He immediately reverted back to his serious expression when Marco almost caught him smiling.

“It was brave of you to take your brother’s place,” Ted said, trying to fill in the awkward silence. Along with the thousands of the other people, he was one of the many to watch Marco so passionately protect his little brother with his own life. He saw Marco slightly duck his head, a wave of distress covering his face. He hoped he hadn’t made the younger upset; he was still mourning over what he had to do.

“I had no choice,” Marco heard himself say, “I didn’t want him to die.”

Marco looked like he had already given all hope; that there was no going back. He looked completely dejected and lost. It was as if he was ready to give up and die at any moment, without even bothering to try. This irritated Ted as he was quite confident and determined compared to Marco. His resolute personality didn’t take well with defeat.

“...and you think you will?” Ted continued.

Marco hesitated, his hazel eyes trying to look anywhere but at Ted’s ardent stare. He swore this guy could make him crumble to pieces at any moment. It was then Marco felt like a hypocrite. He repeatedly told his little brother to appear more tenacious, but he never took his own advice. Marco often became skittish under pressure and even when he came across people who appeared the slightest bit intimidating to him. When Marco regained his composure, he looked at Ted straight in the eyes. He couldn’t act so nervous around him anymore.

“Well, yeah. I do actually.” Marco replied, his voice solid, “I’m not made out for this.”

Ted shook his head, a look of disbelief on his face.

“So that’s it? You’re ready to die, right?”

His voice was slightly aggressive, as if he were trying his best to hide his anger, but failed to. Marco continued to stare at Ted, his lips parted open but nothing coming out of his mouth.

“I-I don’t know,” Marco said, his nervousness returning. He obviously didn’t want to die, but he had to be ready for that moment. He didn’t want to create a false sense of optimism in case it would all come crashing down. That would devastate Marco and aggravate his emotions even more. He had to prepare for the worst.

It was quiet between the two for several seconds until Ted left for the door.

“Where are you going? Isn’t this your room?” Marco interrupted him mid step.

“I’ll find somewhere else to sleep,” Ted replied, not stopping in his tracks. His tone of voice firm and testy. Before Marco could say anymore, Ted closed the door shut after he left.

The next morning, Marco was entangled within the many red bedsheets on the bed he slept in during the night. He stood upwards and rubbed his eyes, grogginess still evident. He looked at the clock ahead of him; he had only slept for a mere four hours. His ongoing thoughts about the first conversation he had with Ted last night badgered him, so much that he couldn’t fall asleep.

Marco absently bit his lip as he thought about what he said to Mario during the day of the reaping.

_“Marco? Win for me, okay?”_

The echoes of his brother’s innocent voice played over and over again in his head.

_“Of course I will.”_

Marco firmly shut his eyes. He once again thought about that lie he told his brother. He didn’t want to disappoint Mario, but he was completely dishonest. It made him feel bad.

Marco sighed as he stood upwards. He wondered what Mitt and the others were doing at this very moment. From the minute he said goodbye to each of them, he already missed them all. He missed his doting mother, Mario, and Mitt.

The 16 year old changed into his regular outfit, leaving behind the expensive sleepwear they had gifted him. He made his way towards dining car, stopping in front of the door when he could see Ted in the middle of a rather heated conversation with Jeb. The supposed mentor sat back in his seat along a table full of food while Ted loomed over him.  Marco peeked through the window before slowly pushing the door open. He awkwardly stood alongside the half opened door, his hand still on the knob, until Palin spoke up.

“Why don’t you join us Marco?” The normally cheerful woman said.

Marco nodded before taking a seat next to the window.

“Can you pass the guac?” Marco heard Jeb say. He waved his hand towards a bowl of mashed avocado.

“So you’re still not going to give us advice?” Ted said his hands pressed against the table.

“Pass the guac first.”

“Not after you start mentoring us now.”

Marco kept his eyes glued onto the two; he could feel the tense atmosphere and it was honestly bothering him. Ted’s voice was bordering on anger; he didn’t bother to hide that at all. He was quickly losing his patience as Jeb continued to give Ted an apathetic look.

“Give me a chance to wake up...then I might think about it,” Jeb mumbled, “This mentoring stuff is really taxing on me.”

When Jeb was about to reach over to grab the bowl of mashed avocado, Ted immediately pinned a butter knife right into the wooden table. It was barely an inch away from Jeb’s hand.

“Can you guys stop?!” Marco spoke up, not wanting the fight to escalate.

Palin suddenly gasped inwards, her eyes wider than usual. Rather than the fact that Ted managed to pierce a dull butter knife through a wooden table, she seemed more surprised that the soft-spoken Rubio sounded so brazen. Jeb and Ted gave Marco contrite looks before they got back to their conversation, this time in a less aggressive manner.

“You really wanna know how to stay alive?” Jeb said, this time in a more alert fashion. He stood upwards, his height towering over Ted’s.

“That’s what I’ve wanted to know for the past few hours.”

Jeb took note of Ted’s cold and calculating voice. To him, Cruz seemed like someone who was initially hard to get along with. He came off as a person who didn’t really care about getting along with people as long as he got his way. If he had to push people away, it was for his own good. It wasn’t anything Ted himself took pride in as that would border on sociopathic tendencies, it was something he simply dealt with.  

“ _You get people to like you._ ”

Although Ted expected Jeb to say that, it still hit him hard. Ted wanted to do anything he could to win the game; that meant he was going to have to make himself appear more likeable.

“When you’re in the middle of the Games and you’re starving or freezing, a knife or even some matches could be the difference between life and death.” Jeb said, “And those things come from sponsors, and to get sponsors, you have to make people like you.”

Ted was silent.

“Yeah, yeah, I thought so,” Jeb shrugged, expecting Ted’s defeat. The confident teen didn’t look so confident anymore, he looked as if he was taken down his pedestal a notch. It was something that pleased Jeb.

Jeb looked over at Marco who had kept a timid expression after shouting at them. He then glanced at Ted who looked like he was waiting for Jeb to say more.

“What weapons do you specialize in?” The mentor asked.

“I’ve been using guns since I was five,” Ted replied.

“What about you Rubio?” Jeb asked.

“I also shoot with guns during my spare time, but I’m pretty bad at it,” Marco said, his voice nowhere near as assured as Ted’s was, “I can’t think of any other weapon I’m somewhat even good at.”

Jeb hesitated looking back and forth at the two. He was devising a plan as to what the two could do during their time in the Games.

“I have a great idea,” Jeb spoke up, clasping his hands together, “Ted you can say that you’re really good with guns, right?”

“...I would say so.”

“During individual training, you need to mentor Marco. He will need your help, and that might earn you some sponsors since they see that you’re nice enough to help him.”

He could easily do that; he had great leadership skills and people often praised him for his ability to guide them through his direction. It made up for his lack of ability to negotiate and work with others as a team.

“There it is!” The three heard Sarah’s peppy voice. They saw her peer through the train window, an excited grin on her face. Marco immediately did the same.

His straight expression suddenly turned into one of shock.

There had to be hundreds of thousands of people standing outside, cheering as their train arrived into the Capitol. As they went in closer, it was so loud that Marco had no problem hearing their cheers and whistles. What Marco knew and saw about the Capitol was true. It was incredibly lavish, the architecture and buildings were in tip top shape; not to mention the exquisite costumes the citizens wore were unusually eye catching. It made district 12 look like a pile of rubble.

“Wave to them, Marco,” Marco heard Jeb said, “They like when you do that.”

Marco hesitantly waved at the spectators before them, trying his best to brave a smile. He could hear the cheers become louder. It was overwhelming, but something he had never experienced. To have thousands of people anticipate his arrival was something completely foreign to Marco. Jeb glanced at Ted who stood in his place, not bothering to take a look through the windows and acknowledge the crowd.

When the train entered a very tall bridge, Marco kept his face glued onto the window. His eyes were focused on what looked to be like a large stadium with tall buildings and skyscrapers surrounding it. The sun bathed the entire location; he had to admit it was a stunning view.

 

* * *

 

A woman, who looked to be in her 60’s, sat behind a dark marble desk. Her blue eyes were focused on the view of the Capitol ahead of her through her office window. She absently twirled a pen in her finger. When she heard a knock behind the office door, she swiveled around her chair, motioning for her assistant to open the door.

She saw a familiar face, a man with white hair dressed up in a grey-ish suit.

“What brings you here, Anderson?” The woman said, her voice calm yet cold.

“Sorry for the brash entrance, President Hillary. It’s about the Games.” Anderson said, “I was wondering if there are any surprises we can expect this year? Any that are worth making a story of.”

“It’s hard to tell at this moment,” The woman, President Hillary, replied, “...but I think...this is a very interesting mix we have here.”

“How so?”

“When you have someone volunteer as tribute from an outline district, it’s something you can’t ignore.”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

 

“Where are you taking me?”

Marco was following a couple of men in uniform through a long corridor. After they had gotten off of the train, he was immediately separated from Ted and the others. They hadn’t clued him in on what was supposed to happen next, so Marco was simply confused. Their footsteps echoed as they briskly walked to their next destination.

“We’re taking you to get cleaned up,” One of them replied, “Afterwards you’ll meet your stylist.”

 _Stylist?_ What would he need a stylist for? Was he supposed to address himself towards a large audience? Marco simply assumed he would go straight into training and then onto the Games. He thought it was quite excessive to get dolled up; it was expected though. He was in the very prosperous and rich Capital where everyone was draped in glamour, he couldn’t stand out like a sore thumb.

 

* * *

 

 

Marco bit the bottom of his lip and clasped the arm rests of the large chair he was sitting in. He felt someone rip a cloth from that sat on the edge of his cheek. He grit his teeth, trying his best to bear through the pain.

“Okay, one more on the other side,” The same person said; Marco squeezed his eyes shut, dreading the next cycle of pain.

Along with the other three people in the room, she was part of the prep team assigned to spruce Marco up. Like the people he saw during his arrival, they all had flamboyant appearances: dyed hair gelled up into a unique style, makeup caked on by the layers, strong eyeshadow and eyeliner, extremely long nails, and colorful outfits. Creams, oils, hair products, and even makeup were lined all over the tables of the room. They intended to make Marco look the best he could.

Marco flinched once he felt the woman rip the cloth off of his cheek. How he hated this.

One of the other prep team members circled Marco, making sure to get a good look at him, “His face looks good enough, but we’re going to have to pluck off a few stray hairs from his eyebrows.”

 _Fuck!_ Marco resisted the urge to groan out loud. They had plucked several hairs before and that was probably the most painful thing he had the displeasure of going through.

After they had done so, they gave Marco one more look, nodding in approval. Marco had tried his best to keep the lingering pain from bothering him. They gave Marco a mirror to look at himself. He peered at it, getting a good look of his reflection.

Marco was strangely impressed. His dark hair which was previously unruly, was neatly parted. His face was clear and smooth, not a single blemish in sight. They must have caked his face to the nines with foundation. 

“I think we’ve done a great job on him,” One of them said, “He looks somewhat presentable now!”

The three prep members all shared a quick laugh.

“We’re going to call Rand in now,” One of the prep members said.

“...who’s Rand?” Marco asked. He felt like this was something he should know, but he was kept in the dark.

The prep member chortled, her laughter uncontrollable. The other two joined in. Marco almost rolled his eyes, but he kept a calm composure as he didn’t want to give them a bad impression. That would risk him not gaining enough sponsors.

“Oh darling, how clueless you are!” She continued to giggle, “He’s Rand Paul! Your stylist!”

It was then Marco felt stupid for asking such a question, but he brushed the feeling off.

The prep team had left, leaving him alone in the small room. Marco hugged the robe he kept on, aware that he had no clothes under the silky article of clothing. He fished into the robe pocket and pulled out the cross pin. He stared hard and long at it; he insisted they didn’t take this object from him after removing his old clothes. It was something he wanted to keep.

Marco immediately turned around once he heard the door creak open. He saw a man of short stature, regularly dressed unlike the exuberant prep members he had seen. The only thing that really stood out was his curly, dark blonde hair. Marco assumed that was supposed to be his stylist, Rand.

“That was very brave of you. It’s the first time I’ve seen someone volunteer for their loved ones,” The man said, he held his hand out for Marco to shake, “I’m Rand Paul; your stylist.”

Marco returned the gesture with a firm handshake, “Thank you.”

Marco couldn’t exactly pinpoint it, but there was something likeable about Rand. He had a sense of authenticity about him. It was refreshing compared to the exaggerated and overly exuberant  personalities he had seen from the Capitol’s citizens.

“I have to say, I’m sorry that all of this has happened to you,” Rand continued, “Your thoughts must be all over the place.”

Marco was surprised; it was the first time someone had said this to him. No one had ever apologized for the fact that he had to be forcibly whisked away from his family and into a game where he would most likely die in.

“Yeah...I still feel sick to my stomach,” The 16 year old replied, an anxious smile forming on his face, “Sometimes I’m trying not keel over from shock.”

“I’m here to help you in any way I can. You don’t have to worry, at least too much," Rand said, “You still have a chance of winning.”

Marco nodded, his reassurance making him feel just a slight better.

“So tonight, they’re holding the tribute parade,” Rand began, changing the subject onto their plan of action.

“What exactly happens during those?” Marco asked.

“All of the tributes from each district selected are brought out to the Capital’s stadium. Very large groups of spectators are there to examine the impression you bring about to them and that includes your appearance.”

“...So that’s your job, to find me an outfit that will make me look good in front of the audience?”

“Exactly. It’s crucial you make a great first impression,” The stylist replied, “...and I know exactly how to do that. I’ll make sure your outfit is the most memorable of the night.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Are you nervous?” Rand asked Marco as he led the 16 year old through the stadium tunnel. This was where he was supposed to meet Ted before they would make their grand entrance.

“No-y-yes, yes I am. I’m actually really nervous,” Marco replied, earning a chuckle from Rand.

Marco felt the seams of his specially made outfit. It was a long, black trench coat with gold adorning the the entire outfit. Below his tight, dark pants he wore thick soled boots. On his chest, the elephant cross The outfit, as Rand said, was supposed to signify District 12's coal mining speciality. 

The capital’s stadium was filled to the brim of spectators, all of them excited for tonight’s event. The lights around the stadium were well-lit, illuminating the darkening sky. The environment was incredibly loud and boisterous as the audience were either talking amongst themselves or cheering for the tributes to arrive. Ahead of the stadium stood a press box where the host for this year’s Games, Anderson Cooper, along with several other announcers stood.

“Over one hundred thousand are gathered here to catch a glimpse of this year’s tributes!” Anderson announced, “Not to mention, the sponsors get to see these tributes for the first time! This is the moment where they have to make an impact if they want to get sponsors on their side!”

“Yes, yes. This is an extremely crucial moment,” Another announcer next to him said, “They need to wow the audience.”

“Alright! Here they come!” Anderson exclaimed, motioning towards the stadium.

One by one, the tributes arrived on chariots pulled by horses. Each of them were uniquely designed to the outfits that their stylists had given them. The crowd erupted into a loud roar as the tributes from district one enthusiastically waved from their snow white chariot. Their dazzling white suits were adorned with specialty jewels, which reflected the affluent district they came from.

“Here we have Mike Huckabee and Rick Perry from district one!” Anderson said aloud from the press box, “District one never fails to impress!”

“What can you say? They come from one of the most prosperous districts! It’d be kind of hard for them not to,” The announcer next to him said.

Behind district one came district two’s tributes. The audience’s mellow cheers became loud once again. Like District one, their chariot and outfits were quite fancy and adorned with expensive jewels. One of the tributes of district two, a blonde haired male, had a noticeably conceited air to himself. The other tribute exposed a more serious impression. All in all, they both looked intimidating.

“From district two..." 

Within the stadium tunnel, Marco tuned out Anderson's calling of the districts. He climbed onto his chariot where Ted was already situated. The two stood side by side. Ted’s stylist was talking among the makeup team that did some last minute retouches on them. Marco looked down at their chariot; it was raven black as were the horses. Rand quickly straightened the cape that he had put on Marco just a few minutes ago. District 10 was already called and district 11’s tributes were about to exit the tunnel and into the stadium itself. Marco bit his lip, stealing several glances at Ted. He had to admit, the older male cleaned up well. When Ted caught Marco staring at him, Marco immediately looked downwards, his cheeks flushing a twinge of red.

“Okay, it’s your turn to go out now,” Rand said, he grabbed hold of a torch that someone had given him.

Before Marco and Ted could react, Rand set their capes on fire with the torch. Marco’s eyes widened; he looked to the back of him and saw that the fire only covered the capes. He couldn’t feel a thing but a tingly hot sensation. He assumed that was the surprise that came along with their costume, something to make them noticeable among all the other tributes.

“Remember; heads up high and look confident!” Rand called behind them as they were getting ready to exit the tunnel.

“You okay?” Ted quietly asked Marco. He had noticed Marco’s apprehensive body language, especially after Rand had caught their capes on fire.

“Y-yeah,” Marco nodded. His heart was just about ready to burst out of his chest at any moment.

Marco heard Rand call them one last time. He immediately looked to the back of him. When Rand opened his mouth to say something, the music within the stadium and the audience drowned his voice out. Before Marco could ask him again, they were too far from Rand.

“What did he say?” Marco looked at Ted.

Ted hesitated for a moment; he didn’t look very comfortable.

“...I think he said to hold hands,” The older male replied, a dubious expression on his face. He wondered why Rand would want them to do such a thing.

 “What-”

Marco was immediately interrupted by Anderson’s voice.

“And our last tributes, from District 12…” Anderson announced, “Ted Cruz and Marco Rubio!”

The cheers of the audience erupted as they exited the tunnel into the stadium. Marco was clearly overwhelmed by the thousands and thousands of spectators.They were clearly impressed with the fire ignited on their capes. Marco’s hazel eyes became wide when he saw his and Ted’s faces captured on a large television screen ahead of them. He was taken aback by his dumbstruck expression being plastered on the screen. Ted had a calmer manner compared to him.

“This is certainly something! I’ve never seen such costumes come from District 12!”

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Anderson added.

Marco looked downwards when he felt a touch on his hand. It came from none other than Ted.

Marco’s face paled.

“It might win us sponsors,” Ted said.

 _So that was what Rand was getting at._ That thought lingered in Marco’s head for a second before he hesitantly held onto Ted’s hand. Ted quickly brought their arms up; Marco made sure to keep his grip tight on Ted's. The audience cheered even louder, if that was possible. Rand was right; it was something that the audience liked. They clearly enjoyed the camaraderie and pride they put forward for them to see.

“Now this is what I like to see!” The other announcer said, “Two young people, holding their hands up, saying ‘I’m proud! I’m from District 12! We will not be overlooked!’”

Marco felt his apprehension slowly going away and his confidence rising. He held his head up high and felt a smile grow on his face. He had no idea whether it was genuine or not, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that this would win them potential sponsors. He glanced at Ted who had given him a satisfied nod and smile before they both looked ahead. It was a change from his stiff demeanor after their small dispute on the train.

“We’ll be paying attention to these tributes for sure.” Anderson said, “Won’t we?”

“We sure will!” The announcer next to him replied.


	6. Chapter 6

“President Hillary, you’re live!”

The room immediately lit up. Cameras surrounded the President as she sat behind her desk, ready to give a short speech to all the citizens of Panem.

“Good evening tributes,” Hillary began, her voice poised, but dripping in artifice, “We salute the courage and your sacrifice. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to go through all of this in such a short amount of time.  Moreover, we wish you a happy Hunger Games. And may the odds be forever in your favor-”

The screen suddenly shut off to a pitch black. Jeb sat behind a table in front of the pitch turned off television, flipping the remote in his hands.

“Hey! I was watching that!” Palin said behind him, trying to grab the remote from Jeb’s hand.

“I can’t stand to listen to her anymore,” Jeb said. When Jeb was caught off guard, Palin immediately swiped the remote from his grip and turned the t.v back on.

Their attention was averted away from the T.V when they saw Marco come into the lavish dining room they were in. After removing his costume and the makeup they had caked on his face, he had changed into his sleepwear. When the tribute parade had ended, each of tributes from every district were situated into their respective dorms of the training center. This was where they were supposed to stay until the games commence.

“My goodness you two were excellent!” Palin said, then nudged Jeb,  “Weren’t they? I loved that little touch with the flames that Rand added.”

“I guess so?” Jeb shrugged; his answer unenthusiastic. He was just about ready to sleep.

“This is going to do them both good. Who knows, they probably have a couple of sponsors on their side by now,” Palin continued, “If Marco and Ted continue to wow the audience before the Games officially start, their chances of surviving could increase tenfold..”

Marco drowned out their voices before grabbing a bottle of water that sat in a cooler not too far away. He excited the dining room, entering a corridor. He took a long swig from the water bottle, the sudden wave of cool liquid refreshing him. When he arrived at the elevator, he pressed the button next to it, waiting for the doors to open.

Like the hallway, the elevator itself was had a glossy, crystal clear surface, not one single spot in sight. It was as if the entirety of the building was sporadically cleaned on a daily basis. Marco felt weird walking around the hallways of this place with his pajamas, but he didn’t let that bother him.

“Are you coming in?”

Marco snapped out of his reverie. He felt a pang in his stomach when he realized it was Ted. The younger male looked upwards, seeing a flashing ‘upwards arrow’ light above the opened elevator. _He was also going up as well._ Once he saw Ted’s arm extended against the elevator door to keep it open, Marco immediately went inside.

“Woah,” Marco said, realizing the transparent crystal flooring of the elevator. He was taken aback the fact he could see the elevator shafts and how high up he was.

“You’ve never ridden this one before?” Ted asked, taking note of Marco’s change of clothes. He assumed the younger had done so since he went to the upper floor into his room to change into his pajamas.

“No; I just took the stairs,” Marco shook his head, he continued looking down at the floor as the elevator ascended, “This is actually pretty impressive. It’s kind of scary, but impressive.”

It was silent between the two. Ted’s eyes drifted onto Marco’s long sleeved silk pajama top. He took note of the his last name personally sewn onto the breastpocket of the shirt in cursive gold letters.  It was strange as to why they needed to have personalized pajamas; there was no point as the games were going to start in a week’s time. It was something to expect from the Capital though.

“Rubio?” Ted heard himself say out loud.

“What about my last name?” Marco asked. They both exited the elevator and into another hallway that was supposed to lead into their bedrooms.

Ted shook his head, slightly embarrassed from blurting his last name aloud out of nowhere, “I was just wondering if you were Cuban...or Hispanic for that matter.”

“Are you?” Marco asked, forgetting to answer the question, “I was thinking the same thing when I first heard your last name.”

They stopped in the middle of the hallway.

“My father is; his great-grandparents moved here decades before Panem was created.” Ted replied, he continued, slightly changing the subject, “I remember my parents were quite close with another Cuban family in our district, a long time ago.”

“...Oh.” Marco nodded, “Do you still talk to them?”

“No,” Ted instantly replied, “They had a child around my age; but I stopped talking to them as well. It was more than 10 years ago, so I hardly remember much at all.”

When Ted was about to leave Marco to go to his room, Marco stopped him. Ever since the conversation they had with Jeb in the train, a certain question lingered in Marco’s mind. He wanted to ask Ted before it was too late.

“Hey, Ted,” Marco awkwardly said, then cleared his throat, “Are you okay with mentoring me, d-during our time in training?”

Although Jeb insist they go about their training this way, he didn’t want to place too much burden on Ted. He had to have as much time as he could to train himself; he couldn’t spend a majority of it teaching the inexperienced Marco.

“Sure I am,” Ted replied; he noticed a wave of guilt form on Marco’s straight expression, “What? You think it’ll take up too much of my time?”

It was as if he could read Marco’s mind.

“Yeah...I guess it would,” Marco said, uncertainty to his voice, “I’m really bad with using guns so it would take ages for you to teach me and you’ll need a lot of time to train properly so I can try teaching myself-”

“I know,” Ted interrupted him, “I’ll still mentor you.”

“Really? Are you sure?” Marco asked.

“Yes; I insist,” Ted said; he couldn’t help but to crack a small but amused smile at Marco’s precariousness. As he had lamented of the time he first saw Marco at his gun store, he had this strange urge to help the guy out. He assumed it was his protective instinct, but he only expressed those feelings to the people he loved and knew well. He only knew Marco for a short time, at least that’s what he had thought.

“If you say so,” Marco shrugged; he tried his best not to return the smile, “Just don’t get too mad at me if I mess up.”

They looked at each other for several seconds, another wave of silence between them.

“There’s a huge glob of makeup on your face.”

“Huh?” Marco raised his eyebrows, surprised at the sudden change of subject. He thought he had washed it all off; it took ages for him to at the bathroom connected to his room. He never bothered to look at the mirror though, “Where?”

Marco tried wiping at his forehead.

“On your cheek,” Ted motioned towards the side of his own face. Marco took his sleeve up to his left cheek.

“No, no; the other one.”

Marco quickly wiped at his right cheek, missing a large spot. Not knowing what came over him, Ted immediately took his own sleeve and swiftly blotted the spot off. Marco was taken aback, but he promptly regained his composure.

“I..uh..goodnight Ted,” Marco said; he swore he could feel his face heating up, but paid no heed to that. He had barely enough to drink, maybe that was the reason.

“Goodnight,” The older male replied. Marco nodded in response before they headed to their respective rooms.

Marco honestly wished he had more time to experience this lavish lifestyle. The room looked incredibly surreal; it was a far cry from the bedrooms with the uneven wooden flooring and worn out walls back in district 12. The entirety of the furniture was very comfortable, especially the bed which seemed to be like a type of waterbed. Marco plopped backwards onto the bed, enjoying the fluid and wiggling sensation.

Besides the furniture that wowed Marco, there were many automatic gadgets situated around the room. With a press of certain buttons on a remote-like contraption, different things like a door that led to a closet or a section of a dresser would open. When Marco’s curiosity got the better of him, he took his time to play with all the buttons, hoping that he wouldn’t end up breaking something.

Marco guaranteed he would get a good night’s sleep for once, as he barely could during the past few days. Tomorrow was the first day of training and he had to make sure to be completely awake for the strenuous activity.


End file.
